


Fates Not Just But So

by KNSkns



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003), Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV), Farscape, Killjoys (TV), Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, Star Trek: Discovery, Star Trek: The Next Generation, The X-Files
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:00:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 3,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23475853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KNSkns/pseuds/KNSkns
Summary: Don't ever think you have nothing to lose. You can always have less.
Relationships: Alvis Akari/Dutch | Yalena Yardeen/D'avin Jaqobis, Buffy Summers & Dawn Summers, Damar & Kira Nerys, Jean-Luc Picard & Ro Laren, Michael Burnham & Philippa Georgiou
Kudos: 5





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a collection of stories that share a common thread: loss, and how some of the strongest, most prominent women in science fiction deal with it. Although there are multiple fandoms, there is no crossover among them. Originally created in/before 2019.
> 
> Disclaimer: again and still not mine.
> 
> Today I live your loss in no man's land but mine,  
> and every time I talk of fates not just but so. . .  
> I think of you.  
> ~ Samuel Hazo, from “For Fawzi in Jerusalem”

1\. Instant, Absolute, Permanent  
(Star Trek: Discovery – M. Burnham; “Battle of the Binary Stars”)

Michael has studied more cultures than most people would believe. Although there are numerous – nearly incalculable – differences among them, they also share more characteristics than any given individual might acknowledge. 

One such commonality: loss.

Some cultures believe loss to be slow, a process that takes time to fully comprehend. Many cultures believe loss to be a partial depletion, a wound that can heal. A statistically impressive number of cultures hold that loss is transient, a temporary condition, one that will pass in due time, regardless of its nature or intensity.

In her experience, each of these viewpoints is incorrect. Or perhaps, those philosophies are accurate for those cultures. But for her? No.

She learned the language of loss when she could still count all the years of her life on both hands. Before she could say more than a handful of words in Vulcan, loss had already become her second language, complete with vocabulary, grammar, and syntax. And carved into her very bones had been the knowledge that loss didn't come slowly, it wasn't partial, and it always stayed.

_(. . . her father's eyes, open but blind. . . her mother's skin, always warm from an internal fire, but now cold as frozen water. . . the smell of smoke and the taste of ash – even years later, she'd awaken abruptly with the certainty that something had been set ablaze – )_

And when she sees Captain Georgiou's body motionless on the deck of the Klingon ship – silent, eyes staring at nothing, blood pooling in far too great a quantity – she knows, _she knows_ , loss has returned yet again.

She won't leave her Captain here; she will not abandon what remains, even if it's only smoke and ash. . .

Like when she was a child, her choice to keep what little remains is taken from her.

She has already fallen to her knees when Seru pulls her back aboard the _Shenzhou._

 _She knows,_ she knows – the full loss of Philippa is instant and absolute and permanent.

And she can do nothing but weep.


	2. 2. And Yet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Killjoys – Dutch; “Wargasm”)

Dutch stands in the cold and silent Medbay chamber looking down at – at Alvis' body.

Alvis is dead, Aneela killed him, and why the hells does she keep finding herself in this situation?

_It was supposed to be me, Alvis,_ she tells him silently. _It was never supposed to be you._

Khlyn had warned her, when she was still young enough to need a ladder to reach something on a top shelf, that love was a weakness; it made one vulnerable. He'd punctuated the lesson by making her kill the closest person she'd had as a friend: another little girl with emerald eyes and long hair dark as the middle of night.

Yes, Alvis had flirted with death long before they'd met. He was a revolutionary, a true believer – someone who would never ask another to do anything he wouldn't do himself.

They'd both known that, between the two of them, she was the more dangerous one. They'd joked about it more than once. Alvis hadn't known nearly as much about her history as Johnny did, but he knew (or guessed) enough to realize who (or what) shared his bed. It certainly hadn't stopped him from seeking or receiving her presence at every opportunity.

She never meant to love him. One day she'd simply looked over at him and realized she did. It was an accident, completely unplanned.

She'd loved her husband, too.

Johnny is standing close behind her, his concern radiating in waves, threatening to overwhelm her. Another good man she'd never meant to love – him or his brother. And yet – 

Clear as crystal, she remembers the first time Alvis had slowly trailed his eyes down and back up her body, then smiled his half cocky, half amused smirk. _Guess monks aren't celibate in this part of the J,_ she'd thought with a grin. He could be lots of fun.

And then, somewhere along time's line, her feelings had changed from amusement to affectionate to love.

Alvis is dead because of her war.

She can't claim innocence here. From her youth, she'd been told, she'd been warned, and yet – 

_I'm sorry, Alvis,_ she mutely tells him. _I should have loved you enough to walk away a long time ago._

No tears, no expressions of grief or regret – 

“Today we fight,” she tells Johnny, and walks away without a backwards glance.

She really does kill everyone she loves.

And yet she can't seem to stop.

Who's next?


	3. 3. Not Always

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Buffy the Vampire Slayer – Buffy; “The Gift”)

Buffy knows she can (occasionally) be a sarcastic smartass. Okay, maybe more than occasionally. Frequently. Maybe even usually.

But, like, what other choices does she have?

Especially now.

Somehow over the last years, her life has turned into handling one crisis after another. It's had more drama than a daytime soap. And yeah, somehow she and the gang always manage to pull the baby out of the fire every time, but seriously? Exactly how much is she expected to take before she taps out? Before she's allowed to tap out.

Just in case anyone is wondering, she's not going to give up her sister. Not gonna happen.

And she doesn't care about the details, how Dawn isn't her “real” sister, how her blood will start yet another apocalypse, blah-blah whatever. She'll do anything to keep Dawn safe.

_Why will she do that?_ is not the question. _Why wouldn't she do that?_ is the real question.

Maybe because she knows exactly what it feels like to have all your options stolen and get backed into a corner. Maybe it's because Dawn didn't have a say in her fate any more than Buffy did hers. Or maybe it's because she's already had so much loss in her (thus far short) life that the thought of losing any more is just driving her nuts.

Her idea of worst-case scenarios has changed over the years, she'll be the first to admit. She's really learned and grown as a person. And really, who likes change? But giving up on Dawn – 

Loss is like an ugly sweater she keeps getting for her birthday and every major holiday, plus special occasions. Can't return it, exchange it, put it in a shredder and set the pieces on fire. It _just keeps coming._

A long time ago, she quit counting her losses. The counting always ended in tears and a pint of ice cream.

Living – surviving – it's not always a gift. Which is, like, maybe for the best, since she's recently been informed that _death is her gift._ Like she's suspected for awhile now, a Slayer really is just a killer. And she's great at her job.

All her mad skills, and she can't even save her sister. If she can't do that, then what exactly is the point?

Maybe there's not always a point. Maybe there never was, and never will be.


	4. 4. Death Orders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Star Trek: Deep Space 9 – Kira N.; “Tacking into the Wind”)

She just wants to get something warm to drink, but when she stands before the replicator, her gaze skips over to Garak and Damar. She recognizes the shell-shocked grief – she just can't recall seeing it so openly on the face of a Cardassian. 

The Dominion found Damar's wife and child, and now they are both dead. He is now a man who used to have a family. He is no longer a husband or father. The ones he loved most are no more.

Kira knows _exactly_ what he's feeling.

She, too, had a family. Once.

Damar talks with a voice of disbelieving fury, and she listens to words that she herself has spoken and screamed and wept so, so many times in her life.

“They weren't a part of this. . .”

_(. . . collecting the bodies of over thirty Vediks, murdered while they knelt in prayer – consigning their remains to a funeral pyre that would forever leave bitterness on her tongue and flames behind her eyes. . .)_

“The casual brutality of it. . .”

_(. . . her father, who died of malnutrition – starvation – on a planet with soil so rich it produced enough food for double its population. . .)_

“What kind of State tolerates the murder of innocent women and children. . .”

_(. . . walking into a village where every Bajoran had been slaughtered, even infants cradled in their parents' arms – dead in retaliation for something of which they had absolutely no part. . .)_

“What kind of people give those orders?” Damar demands in a flat, unbelieving voice. 

_(. . . land sewn with chemicals so that everything dies. . .)_

“Yeah, Damar – what kind of people give those orders?” she echoes back at him.

Because for all she's seen and done and thought and felt – she's never found an answer to that question.


	5. 5. Homeless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Battlestar Galactica – Starbuck; “Home, part 1”)

Starbuck thinks it's a damn good thing she isn't prone to bouts of tears. Otherwise, she wouldn't be in this fraking raider,she'd be in a corner somewhere crying her eyes out. It's bad enough that something inside her feels fractured and bruised.

She never was all that invested in the idea of _home._ Why should she, with the way she grew up? She'd found a dozen different reasons not to go home, when she was a kid. Friends, detention, just hanging out on the street – anything to not have to go back to that place she slept at night.

This is the first time she can honestly say that the idea of being without a place – being homeless – has caused her concern. Maybe it's because, oh yeah, not only is she homeless, but so is the rest of her civilization (what's left of her civilization, anyway.) The last remnants of her people are aimlessly wandering around the dark void of space. What the frak is she supposed to do with that information, huh?

Does it make it better or worse that Adama lied about Earth? She understands why he did it, really she does – but damn, he lied right to her face. She'd given him every chance to come clean, but he hadn't. She had so wanted Roslin to be wrong. Instead, the President had trusted her with the truth, and the Old Man stuck to his lie.

Lords, she wishes she still didn't know.

She wishes she could talk to Lee about it, but Lee's still pissed as hell at her over Baltar, so that option isn't on the table. (Oh Lords – Baltar will be President when Roslin dies. Great. That's just fraking great. . . and she'd thought things couldn't get any worse. She's _got to stop_ thinking that.)

Her entire race is going nowhere fast. They've already lost so much – what will happen if the hope of Earth is lost, too? They can't go on like this forever, no end in sight.

And that's why she took this fraking mission. She can't just sit on her hands and pray some halfway good enough planet will pop up. And yes, she knows this is likely a suicide mission, but she's dead anyway if they can't find safe harbor. At least she's trying.

Lee hates her, the Old Man lied, Roslin's going to die. . .

Lords, how much loss are they going to be dealt?

They cannot be homeless indefinitely. They have to have somewhere to go.

And that's what she keeps thinking, over and over, again and again, as she takes the raider and jumps away.


	6. 6. Enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (The X-Files – D. Scully; “Momento Mori”)

Scully looks at the films in her hands and can't help but feel a sense of surrealism.

Logically, she understands the situation. She is a doctor, and what is crystal clear on the scans isn't complicated or even vaguely ambiguous. No need for a consult or second opinion.

The part she's having difficulty with is the why. Why is this happening to her? There's no family history, no known exposure to toxic materials. . .

It's a typical reaction to a terminal medical diagnosis. She knows that as well. It doesn't stop her from examining the details of her life, wondering how this came to pass, how to prevent it from progressing.

Her background is in hard science. She fully acknowledges that sometimes – perhaps even most of the time – there is no why.

All her life, no matter what or how badly things went wrong, she's always been confident of her own intelligence. She's a medical doctor (although, to be fair, she has run across colleagues before and wondered, _How the hell did you manage to graduate, not to mention pass your boards?_ ) She holds a couple of undergrad degrees in other various scientific fields. She knows her category on the Myers-Briggs test. When not reading articles in her field(s), her choice in literature runs towards that of post-modern deconstructionist. Her belief in the Theory of Moral Development is solid, as is her concurrence with Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs. Even a simple IQ test confirms she's well above the national average (not that a standardized, culturally biased test can accurately measure intelligence.) By all accounts, she is an intelligent person.

Again she looks down at the radio-graphic films in her hands, can interpret them all by herself. She is now an intelligent person with an inoperable brain tumor. Her odds of being struck by lightening are higher than her odds of survival.

If she's so damn smart, why can't she think of a way out of this situation? Why doesn't she have any concrete possibilities to prevent the loss of her own life?


	7. 7. Bad Trade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Farscape – Aeryn Sun; “Self Inflicted Wounds, part 2”)

Aeryn is a soldier – always has been, always will be. She has a soldier's skills, knows what soldiers know. And she knows a soldier's purpose: to fight, protect, even die if necessary – to keep what is important safe.

Zhaan is important. She's a healer, and diplomatic, and wise.

Aeryn knows herself to be none of those things.

But their fates have been traded, and she will live but Zhaan will die. That was a frelling bad trade, and everyone knows it (herself most of all.)

Neither Moya nor the rest of them can afford to lose Zhan. They all know that (even Crichton, even if he won't admit it.) The Delvian knows more now than Aeryn will learn in her entire life. And when Zhaan dies, all her skills and knowledge and wisdom die with her.

She watches Zhaan cope with her ever-closer death, deal with it far better than Aeryn herself would, certainly. If Zhaan is afraid, it doesn't show; if she regrets her choice to take Aeryn's lot – well, that doesn't show, either.

Zhaan is smart – so why the frell would she make such a stupid decision? If the Delvian had just left her dead, everyone might have been sad for awhile (some more than others,) but they would have been fine in the long run. But a future without Zhaan is uncertain at best. If Aeryn could undo this bargain, she would, immediately and without hesitation. Zhaan's loss will be far more significant than Aeryn's ever would have been.

Finally, when it seems the coin could land on either side, Moya may or may not survive, Aeryn says aloud what the others are thinking and she herself knows to be true.

“It was a bad trade, Zhaan – your life for mine.”

The crew could easily have found another soldier, but they will never find another Zhaan. Hers is a loss from which they are unlikely to recover.

Aeryn knows this as surely as she knows herself. What she also knows: she can do absolutely nothing to change things.


	8. 8. Torn Apart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Star Trek: The Next Generation – Ro L.; “Preemptive Strike”)

It was always going to end badly, this relationship between her and Starfleet. She figured that out by the end of her first semester at the Academy. But she was a Bajoran orphan who'd lied about her age – and possibly a few other minor details – just to get into Starfleet. Exactly what were her other options: go back to the camps? Hell no. Try to get to Bajor and join the doomed-to-fail Resistance? She wanted to make her life better, not worse. So she stuck it out and stayed at the Academy.

When she graduated, it wasn't with honors, and she wasn't at the top of her class. But she was also far from the bottom, on the positive side of the Bell curve, which was good enough for her. Not like it really mattered; in the sea of people who showed up to support and celebrate their respective graduates' accomplishments, not a single person was there for her. That was probably for the best.

Then she got her first posting, and things got more complicated. As it turned out, she sucked at following stupid orders. Way too many of her crewmates were entitled idiots. All of Starfleet couldn't be like this, surely – the organization never would have lasted this long, if so. All of them couldn't be so naive, so willfully ignorant and blind to the shape of reality.

Yeah, well – a few years in and she finally acknowledged that they could be, and they were, and maybe sticking it out had been a bad idea.

Things happened – this and that, nothing too major, but nothing that endeared her to Starfleet, either. And then there was the _Wellington_ clusterfuck, and then there was prison. And prison reminded her so, so much of life in the camps – only with a guaranteed food supply. So there was that.

Her one stroke of luck – after years of just getting by – was finding Captain Picard. He was what she'd thought all of Starfleet would be like. Honorable, realistic, fair, intelligent, kind – he treated her like someone worthy of respect and trust. He listened to her. He reminded her of her father.

He showed her how her life could be different. Better.

And now she is betraying him. He trusted her – gave her space and reason to trust herself again. The absolute irony: because of Picard, she's joining the Marquis. She's holding an armed phaser on Riker – someone else she's come to respect – because Picard encouraged her to be proud of her Bajoran heritage.

And then he'd asked her to help the Cardassians (who murdered her father, slowly, right before her child's eyes) against people trying to defend their homes and lives (many of whom were Bajoran.) She'd tried, really tried to do as he asked – she owed him so much – and when she'd realized she couldn't betray another man who was also much like her father, she'd all but begged Picard to call it off.

A knife wound to the gut would've hurt less than his response. The loss of his faith in her hurt more than a week's hunger. He demanded that she choose between the life she'd built on the _Enterprise_ , and good people trying to save themselves from the Cardassians. Either way guaranteed loss, and deciding which loss would be less severe was worse than being torn apart.

“Tell Captain Picard I'm sorry,” she asks Riker (who isn't seeming to disapprove or condemn her what-must-seem-like sudden defection.)

There would be no coming back from this.

In her life, she has endured and survived much loss. Sometimes it felt like loss was the only constant she'd ever really known. This loss is not one she takes lightly, knowing the pain of it will last a long, long time.

/////

Today I live your loss in no man's land but mine,  
and when I talk of fates not just but so. . .  
I think of you.  
~ Samuel Hazo, from “For Fawzi in Jerusalem”

[end]


End file.
